


Don't Go Gently

by The_Word_Witch



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Steve Rogers - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Ass Play, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Consensual Kink, Dom Steve Rogers, F/M, Face-Fucking, Feels, Fucking, Hurt Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Smut, Steve Rogers Feels, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 03:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16255931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Word_Witch/pseuds/The_Word_Witch
Summary: You and your wife, Laila, were SHIELD operatives for years. After they were exposed Fury put you both to work eventually connecting you with Cap and his group of rouge Avengers. In that time you and Steve become dear friends. It’s to you he first comes out and tells you about Bucky.Your bond deepens when he takes you and Laila to meet his Bucky in Wakanda. The four of you spend a week joking about taking trips together like civilians to all the queer capitals and talking for hours about the ways your community has changed in the decades the men have missed. You all part ways filled with hope for a full future. It doesn’t last.While on a mission in Rio you and Laila watch in horror as people on the street fall to ash… holding hands you run until you no longer feel the reassuring pressure of her palm in yours. Turning you see her lips form, “I love you,” before she’s gone. Months later Steve hunts you down on a bender in Greece. He informs you that he lost Buck too, tells you what actually happened. Aching, the two of you help one another survive the best way you know how…





	Don't Go Gently

**Author's Note:**

> 18+, smut, light kink, light knife play (v. light), angst, FEEEEELINGS

You flag the bartender down and lay a $50 on the sticky countertop. “Whiskey, until this runs out.” They nod and fill a glass. You pull out a pack of Marlboro’s and light up. No one gave a fuck anymore. What did it matter?

You’ve barely taken your first drag when a hand plucks the cigarette from between your lips. A mass of purebred Americana fills your left peripheral and you turn glaring. “Are you fucking kidding me, Rogers?!” You reach for your smoke and he just crushes it in his hand, not even wincing from the heat.  
“You know I hate the smell of these things.”

Slugging back your whiskey you say through clenched teeth, “I should give a fuck, why?” The bartender eyes you both and goes to fill your glass again but Steve stops him.  
You’re thinking very seriously about the merits of stabbing him when he says, “Why don’t you just give her the bottle?” He holds your gaze and pulls in close, right hand digging iron fingers into your upper thigh. “We need to talk,” he growls into your ear.

Unsure the bartender gives you a look. You shrug and he passes you the bottle of cheap liquor, better for gassing up your bike than drinking but you were past caring this week… this month… these past two years… 

It was 5pm, the city eerily quiet for rush hour. The losses had been felt less in places like Chicago, London, and New York, not like the towns who watched ¾ of their citizenship blow away in the afternoon breeze. Still, Chicago had been hit hard enough for the void to be tangible. Parts of the city, like this one near Chinatown, felt like a ghost town.  
He’s walking down the adjoining alley but you pause to take a swig, revel in the way it burns all the way down your throat, curling into something you’d regret later in the pit of your stomach. He’s leaned against the alley wall rage emanating from every pore.  
“What the fuck is thi-“

“You fucking know what this is about!” His arms are crossed, hands grasping his biceps so tight you think the skin of his knuckles is going to split.

You cock an eyebrow, “No. I actually don’t,” you take another drink. Gesturing at him with the bottle you stride down to him, “But that’s your lecture face so I’m sure a star-spangled serving of bull shit is coming my way.” He grabs the bottle and throws it at the wall beside you so hard you’re not certain the glass didn’t revert back to sand.

“Mother fucker are you for real?! You owe me $50 you piece-“ He grabs you by the shoulders lifting you and slams you into the wall so hard you lose your breath.

His eyes bore into you, “I know you took out the Merit Brothers. Alone.”

You haven’t quite gotten your breath back, “And? That was weeks ago.” You pant, he doesn’t release you. “Are you sad the world is five sex traffickers fewer?” His fingers dig into you, “Those people are free and I let the authorities take care of the lower level fucks.”

“After you let them take you! You could have…” He pauses, shaking away the thought, “And not telling anyone where you were before, during, or after,” he drops you and turns away. “I mean for fuck’s sake Y/N! Do you have a death wish.”

You stare at his back, daring him to look at you. Of course, you had a death wish. All you wanted was for someone to take you out because you knew she’d never forgive you if you did it yourself… But Laila’d sniff out your bullshit sacrifice too, your heart whispers.

“Well?!” The anger is rippling through his massive shoulders and you feel the whiskey slither through your veins, making the thirst for something of better quality burn.

He turns back and you only shrug. “Answer me,” his voice is hardly a growl.

“I don’t know Steve!” You run your hands through your chin length curly hair, suddenly wanting to scream until you can’t breathe. “Do you?”

“Fuck you.”

“Can’t answer either?” You’re less than a foot away staring up into that perfect face. “You don’t know if you want to live or die because living is fucking agony without him. It’s been almost two years and it…” He goes to walk away and you flick one of your Kunai at his left arm, aim perfect, sharp blade slicing his skin. “Don’t fucking walk away from me Rogers.” Slowly he touches the spot, fingers coming away crimson.

“You started this.” You say as he turns, a dark look tarnishing his golden features. “I’m the same as you. Just doing whatever the hell I can to get to the next day. If I end the day aching and bloody, good. At least I’m fucking feeling something.” He’s continuing his steady approach and you back up until your back meets the wall. Grabbing his jaw, making his head tilt down, “Unlike you, I don’t need a banner to bleed under to justify my pain.”

His lips rise into a menacing smile and he grasps your wrist, spinning you around until your right cheek is kissing the rough brick wall. He has your arm pinned between you, twisting it just enough to hurt, pressing his massive form flat against your solid but smaller one. His teeth nip your left earlobe and the breath leaves you in a hiss.

“You know, Y/N,” you can feel the size of him move just below your low back, “If it’s pain you wanted you didn’t have to almost get yourself killed.” Lightening fast he spins you back around placing his right hand against your throat, not squeezing. “You only had to ask.”

You smirk, “Always ready to be a service to your fellow countrymen.”

“And women,” he winks before kissing you hard, tongue forcing it’s way in, pressing his knee against your crotch. You can already feel how slick you are, your body thrumming with whiskey and want.

“Now,” he pulls away, his hand still at your throat, “are you going to come quietly?”

“Where’s the fun in that, Rogers?” He smiles, a touch of his grief lifting as he releases you and begins to lead the way to the safe house.

The apartment is just a few blocks away in a nearly empty building. It overlooks a street lit with colored string lights since the city couldn’t be bothered with infrastructure anymore. Honestly, it was surprising anything was functioning after the incident. Once inside Steve takes a moment to disable Stark’s security system. And you walk to the window looking down at the uncomfortably quiet streets.

Dead cities, dying worlds…

“Enough,” he’s watching you, no doubt guessing where your head is. The light rising from the streets casts him in an ethereal glow somehow making him look as beautiful and volatile on the outside as he is inside.

He sits heavily on the couch, legs spread. “Put your weapons on the table,” his eyes glued to yours, “Slowly.” You do as you’re told, with your own flare, of course. Each of your six Kunai softly thud point first into the wood of the coffee table. Bending, never looking away from him, you pull your Bowie knives from their holsters at your ankles and they nest in the wood with a crack, black blades all the more menacing in the light. With a click, your belt releases holding your clips and Glock. You let this wind between the path your knives have left. Reaching under your tee you pull your revolver from its holster and it hits the table with a thud.

He leans forward, looking down, his fingers wobbling one of the Bowie knives, “Is that everything?” Blue eyes sliding up your body. You nod, mischief glinting in your eyes. “Liar,” he smirks. You step back, anticipating his next move. He kicks the coffee table away, “Come here.” You stand between his spread legs.

One by one he lifts your boots to his knees, undoing the laces and tossing them to the side. Done he loops a finger into your waistband unhooking the button, tugging down the zipper with a rasp. He looks up at you and lets your tac pants pool at your ankles. Their absence reveals the two knives strapped to each of your muscular thighs.

“Tsk, tsk,” as he slides each of the small knives out. He scrapes the tips of the razor-sharp blades up the outside of your thighs, not enough to draw blood, just to leave a mark. You shudder as the cool metal slides under the elastic of your underwear.

With a swift motion, he cuts through the fabric. Spreading your legs as much as the pants around your ankles will allow your thighs to open up giving enough space for the fabric to flutter to the floor. Taking the knives in his left hand he stabs them into the arm of the couch.

You run your fingers through his long hair, and yank his head to look up at you. Together you were different people. Switching roles as easily as changing clothes. But the submissive in him still loved to be handled and you couldn’t help but assert yourself even for just a moment.

His eyes spark as his hands grab your ass. Without hesitation, you push him forcefully to your aching cunt. Hungrily his tongue finds your clit flicking and stroking, his beard tickling the soft flesh. A deep moan erupts from you as you pull his hair into your fist.

His hands inch up your back, helping support you as you arch with pleasure. A nip of his teeth almost sends you over the edge. With a speed that reminds you, Steve Rogers is so much more than human he shoots up and clasps his right hand over your nose and open mouth, trapping your moan and breath at the back of your throat.

“You don’t get to come until I say,” his left-hand reaches down and strokes you. Desperately you try to grind against his fingers before he pulls away. “I don’t think so.”

He releases your nose allowing you to breathe freely and licks you off his index and middle fingers, eyes closing. “Why is it you always taste so fucking good?”

You smile against his hand, he slides it to the back of your head and draws you to him. His mouth still tastes like you and you can’t help but love it. In these moments you belong to one another.

Your greedy hands reach for the bulge pressing against his tac pants and rub, finding the length of him through the fabric. He bites your bottom lip hard as you squeeze and pushes himself firmly against your grasp.

“Is this what you want?” He’s holding your face in his hands and all you can manage is a nod. This is all you want. “Not convinced,” he pulls away a bit.

“Please,” you beg.

“That’s a little better,” he takes a step back. “If you want it,” he glances down. Immediately you’re kicking free of your pants and on your knees. Your hands make quick work of his belt and tac pants, a heart-wrenchingly familiar landscape that connects him to Laila. Once gone so is the connection.

All of him is outlined through the tight fitting boxers, your mouth waters. Before removing them you run your tongue over him, the knit fabric diffusing the sensation, and drag your nails between the elastic band and his flesh. His head falls back with a groan and the fingers of his left-hand coil through your dark curly hair. Sliding them down you can’t help the hum of satisfaction that rises in the back of your throat.

You grab his shaft, tongue flicking the head. “No,” he rumbles as he moves your hand away. Eyes rising to meet his you open your mouth in anticipation. He runs his right thumb along your bottom lip before grasping the other side of your head and filling your mouth with his cock.

He hits the back of your throat hard and you gag against him, eyes closing, reveling in the feeling. “Open your fucking eyes, Y/N.” And you do, his gaze holding yours. Quickly he slides out and reflexively your mouth closes. A sharp crack across your left cheek sends reverberations through your whole body. Realizing you open your mouth, tongue out. “Nice to see you know what to do even if you need to be reminded.” Without warning, he pulls your head to him and begins fucking your throat. Your eyes burn but you keep looking at him, tears rolling down your cheeks. His moans are delicious, each one making you shiver, making you want more and his eyes never leave your own.

One last thrust and he slowly pulls out, his cock dripping wet. The AC kicks on and you can feel the air cooling the mix of spit and tears covering your face and neck but you don’t dare move to wipe them away.

Crouching down he grabs the neck of your t-shirt and like it’s nothing more than a piece of paper he tears it down the middle. Roughly he cups your breasts for an instant, effortlessly locating your nipples even through the thick fabric of your sports bra and squeezes them hard. You cry out leaning your chest into his grasp.

Smirking he stands and kicks off his boots, slips free of his pants and peels off his white tee. You have to admit it never gets old. From your spot on the floor, you look up at this majestic man. You run your eyes up him. Thighs thick with muscle, that fucking perfect cock, his torso (the dusting of golden hair the only thing keeping him from looking like he’s not carved from marble), the tree trunks he wields for arms, shoulders broad and taught, and that face. The mix of pain, and love, and lust, and ferocious rage a mirror of your own.

His hands slip under your arms drawing you to your feet. Gentle fingers slide the torn shirt off and use it to wipe the moisture from your face, find the buckle to your holster and quickly undo it, work their way under your sports bra and pull it over your head, tossing it away.

He takes you in much as you had him. His hands slide down your neck, shoulders, breasts, at your waist his grip tightens and, despite your muscular form, he lifts you like you’re nothing. Your powerful legs wrap around his hips, your arms anchor against his thick neck. His cock grazes your cunt and desire explodes in the pit of your stomach.

His right arm wraps around the middle of your back pressing you tight against him as his left hand brings your face to his sending his lips crashing into your own. For a minute you forget about everything else. His kiss is desperate and wanting. Matching his intensity you’re lost in the heat of his mouth, the nipping of his teeth, the seeking movements of his tongue.

When he pushes the length of him inside you it catches you off guard entirely and you cry out. It’s been months. Your body stretches, aches, as your head falls back and he thrusts deeper. All of him, yes, everything. He turns you toward the bedroom and you squeeze him, relishing the way his brows knit with every contraction.

Suddenly he’s no longer inside of you. Instead, you’re on the bed staring at the ceiling, the lights from the street giving this room the same ethereal glow. But only for a second. He flips you onto your stomach, grabs your thighs hard and pulls you to the edge of the bed, iron fingers bite into your hips and he lifts your ass in the air. You’re anticipating to feel him inside you again but instead, his palm crashes into the meat of your left ass cheek and you whimper. Again and again and again, alternating sides, until your skin is burning. He grabs your ample ass, squeezing hard, and you know you’ll be bruised tomorrow, you smile at the thought.

“Spread,” he commands. Your hands grasp at your ass, holding the cheeks open, skin sunburn hot, side of your face pressed into the duvet.

The sensation of his tongue flicking across your clit is all it takes for the pleasure to tighten in the base of your abdomen, begging to be released. He moves up, tongue pushing into your pussy, thumb on your clit and you moan pushing back against it. His right thumb makes gentle circles around your clit as you feel his index and middle finger enter you, he slides a third fucking you hard, stretching you open.

“Steve!” You cry out, “Please!”

“Not yet,” you can feel his breath against you and his tongue circles your ass hole. You can’t help but moan, feral and fierce, as he buries his face between your cheeks, his fingers working your pussy, his tongue caressing your ass.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK,” you repeat. Just when you know it’s impossible for you to hold back any longer he lifts his head.

“Come for me, Y/N,” he rasps, fingers working you harder than ever.

All language flees you. Burying your face into the duvet you scream as you come. Electric shocks run up your legs with each pass of his thumb, your thighs tremble, your whole body releases and for a moment you feel numb, shaking, tears of pleasure streaming out of your eyes. Aftershocks race through you as he effortlessly flips you over again.

When he rams his cock inside you, you can’t help it. Immediately your back arches, your nails tear down his, and you come again. When his eyes meet yours you think for just a moment he’s going to reprimand you but you’re past that. Past rules and play. He kisses you, left-hand wrapping around your throat, just the right amount of pressure, and lifts your left leg onto his right shoulder. Deeper, he thrusts hard setting your whole body on fire. The look on his face is wild as he fucks you hard his fingers pressing on your arteries.

His forehead against yours, eyes burning. “You wanna to come for me again?” His voice smoke.

“Yes, yes, god yes,” you whisper as his pace quickens. Your head is floating, body so ready. This one comes softly, unable to scream just feeling him feeling the weight of him on you and inside you sending wave after wave of pleasure pulsating.

Releasing your leg he lifts you by your shoulders, you whimper thinking he’s going to pull out, not ready to release him. Instead, he lifts you both into a sitting position, his back facing the pillows on the bed, never leaving you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says against your lips and you kiss him desperately, grinding your hips against his. He moans, head thrown back, mouth open as you move against him.

Placing both hands on his chest you push him back against the nest of pillows, lifting just enough so his legs can unfurl. Leaning back you wrap your hands around his ankles, and you ride him hard, breasts bouncing. His hands grasp them, rolling your nipples in his calloused fingers. Your moans in perfect harmony filling the quiet apartment.

You rise grabbing his wrists, forcing his arms down pinning him to the bed. Loving that he’s allowing you to take charge. Your eyes bore into his, dark and light. The energy passing between you beyond words. Steadily riding his cock you lower your mouth to his. Your kiss firm but not demanding, gentle but hungry. You begin to squeeze your walls tighter against him and he moans against your mouth. Your lips curl in an involuntary smile.

Releasing his wrists you lift yourself upright his face is knotted in pleasure hands seeking out your skin. Pulling his right hand to your mouth you suck on his index finger, tongue circling his fingertip. A pleasure laced growl rises out of his chest and his back arches pressing his cock deeper inside you.

“Will you come for me, Steve?” You breathe out. HIs eyes are burning into you. “Will you?” He pulls you against him, foreheads touching, left hand firmly grasping your ass in response, taking over, fucking you hard. His breathing ragged, low moans slipping from between soft lips. Eyes locked.

“Come for me,” you whisper between moans. “Please, Steve.”

“Oh god,” he rumbles.

“Come inside me.”

You both cry out at the same time, bodies shaking with the force of your climax. Holding tight to each other as if you’re afraid you’ll both be lost in this.

You’re unsure how long you both lay there. Unmoving, your face pressed to his neck bodies thrumming. And you don’t care.

Gently strokes your hair and presses his lips against your forehead, “Y/N, you ok?”

You look into those sweet baby blues and smile, “I am.” Cupping the side of his face with your right hand, “Are you?”

“Yeah,” he says with a melancholy smile.

You slide off of him but he pulls you close to his chest, arms like steel ropes lashing you against him. “Steve?” You ask cheek pressed to his chest. His heart is hammering.

He buries his face in your hair and takes a few ragged breaths. You lace your right arm under his left grasping his shoulder, “I’m here,” you whisper. It was always what you said to one another, a small reassurance.

“For how long,” he’s hardly audible. His grip loosens and you shoot up, leaning on your left arm looking down into his face.

“What?”

“For how fucking long, Y/N?” His eyes are shining and your heart begins to break.

“I…” you take a breath. “So earlier wasn’t just an excuse to get in my pants.”

His face goes dark and he explodes off the bed. “What?!” His glare is so intense you have to look away. “Look at me and say that shit again, Y/N!” Your eyes remain glued on the duvet. “Y/N!”  
You draw up, wrap your arms around your calves, your head resting on your knees, “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“For what?” You hear him pace the room stopping at the foot of the bed. “For thinking I feigned concern so I could fuck you?” You don’t answer, “Or for making me think I lost the only goddamn person I have left who actually knows ME?!” His voice cracks on the last word and your head shoots up. His left arm is wrapped around his chest, face cradled in his right hand. A tear drops to his left forearm, shimmering in the light. You rise to your knees on the bed and he looks at you. His face is shattered and you absolutely fucking hate yourself.

“Sam heard what happened with the Merit Brothers and looked into it.” He takes a shaky breath, “There were reports that someone fitting your description was seen but nothing solid. Three weeks later a woman was found in the backwoods of their property with dark curly hair and brown eyes. And I…”

“Fuck,” you breathe. You’d no idea… You killed the brothers, disabled the security, called the cops, provided them with a file on every known client and person on the payroll, and disappeared. Since you’d left it with the authorities you didn’t think to check back. Had gone off the grid for six or seven weeks. Nothing but a blur of women and whiskey all while he thought… “Steve…”

“When I heard you were in Chicago I didn’t know if I wanted to kiss you or kill you myself.” You reach out, not wanting to touch him if he’s not ready and he climbs onto the bed, sitting back on his ankles. A foot of space between you.

He toys with a loose thread on the duvet before meeting your eyes. “I can’t… I can’t go…” You give him a questioning look, unsure his meaning. “Before we went to battle, Buck and I slipped away. We made a pact that no matter what happened we’d keep going, we would… wouldn’t follow the other into death if it came to it… ” tears slide silently down his face leaving dew drops in his beard. Your eyes sting knowing Lai would have made you promise the same damn thing.

You reach for his hand, hopelessly relieved when he takes it squeezing hard. “I won’t turn my last promise to the man I love into a fucking lie, Y/N.” You nod, knowing. “But… when I thought you were dead I…” He swallows hard looking away. “I was ready to break that promise. I swear I was.” He looks away, his voice ragged, “Because I’m so fucking tired of being alone!”

With this, he’s done. You draw him to you and hold him as tight as you can, his body wracked with sobs. “I’m sorry, Steve. I’m so so sorry.”

After a few moments he quiets, you stroke his hair, rub his back. Sitting up he wipes his face on his arm and massages his temples. For a minute he doesn’t look at you.

Finally, his eyes meet yours, “If you’re too tired to go on… I get it. Just don’t leave without letting me say goodbye ok?” He cups your face in both his hands. “Don’t just fade away…”

Tears spill from your eyes, quietly and you cover his hands with your own. “I have promises to keep too, unspoken ones but they weigh on me anyway.” He nods, understanding. “I’m staying here Steve, here with you if you’ll still have me after… everything.”

His face breaks into a true smile, the kind that reaches his eyes. “Of course I’ll have you,” you embrace one another and he pulls you to the bed. Lifting your face he kisses you sweetly and your lips curl alongside your toes.

Your head on his chest, your legs tangle together, fingers intertwine. There are no more words to be spoken. He knows you meant what you said and you both know that Bucky and Laila would be happy neither of you is alone.

Maybe you can go to the places you had all talked about on that warm summer evening back in Wakanda. San Francisco, Berlin, Madrid, and New Orleans. Or maybe you’ll help him keep the world from falling apart, make things better for the people left. 

Wherever you end up you’ll end up together.


End file.
